


Half an Eternity

by spinninginfinityboy



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical bisexuality, Case Fic, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Season/Series 02, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:22:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23230090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinninginfinityboy/pseuds/spinninginfinityboy
Summary: When the Torchwood team are called out to investigate a murder scene with no murder victim they find much more than they bargained for. Soon they are drawn into dangerous technology, and must face up to certain truths about themselves along the way.A story about life, death, resurrection, and cats.Set mid-late series 2.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set mid-late series 2, after Owen becomes a dead man walking but before anything starts breaking my heart too thoroughly. I'm in quarantine babey so I will be writing this to keep me sane, aiming to update it daily but no guarantees. Comments and kudos equals motivation.
> 
> Stay safe folks, wash your hands, don't mess with the rift

“Oh, I don’t know. First being a chemist then a cultist - what's next?”

“I’m not a cultist, mam!”

Water sloshed from the sink and down Ricky Delaney’s front, which really didn’t help to diminish his frustration. He threw up his soap-covered hands.

“There, see? Look at this mess.”

From the kitchen table, Sue Delaney sipped her cup of tea and tutted.

“Well, I don’t know what you kids are calling it these days. Just doesn’t seem right, is all. Spending all your evenings going down to that damp little hole, with your rituals and your computers – I mean really, computers! It’s been a while since I’ve been to church, but I’ve never heard of Jesus answering emails.”

She chuckled, pleased with her own joke. Ricky glowered at the basin and tried not to react. His mum didn’t seem to take the hint.

“I just think you left a good job for no reason. Just skulk about here all day now.”

“I’m doing the dishes, aren’t I?”

Water splashed again as he brandished a pan, still crusted with the dark red remnants of the previous night’s pasta sauce, to underline his point. A few drops reached the table. Sue frowned.

“You’ll be cleaning this up and all.”

She sighed, taking another long drink of tea. There was a moment when all was silent in the cramped kitchen, save the kitten clawing at her scratching post. Ricky closed his eyes, savouring it. Now if only his damned headache would go away.

“You could have had a career out of that-“

“For the last time, mam! It was minimum wage! And I’m not a bloody cultist, I’m researching.”

The sink drained slowly. Ricky picked up a towel and began to dry the pan.

“Alright, love. There’s no need to shout.”

A smart retort died behind Ricky’s gritted teeth. The pan bounced against his leg as his hand fell to his side. Sue continued wittering. She never bloody stopped – ever since he’d moved back in, it seemed, a constant stream of inane chatter, drilling right in through his brain. At least on the forums people listened. They knew what he was going to achieve, they respected it. Respected _him._

“And you know Liz, down the street, she’s seen you, she says. Heard her talking down the shops. Says you were never this much trouble when you were younger, and I have to agree, son, I mean you really were such a sweet boy.”

The noise of the saucepan against his mother’s head brought a grin to Ricky’s face for the first time in weeks. Again he brought it down, then again, moving round the table when she slipped from her seat to the kitchen floor. The crashing viciousness of the blows sent shudders up his arm, jolting like a heartbeat. 

When he was finished, Ricky took a deep breath. There was a new smell in the room; cloying, sickly. Blood, he supposed. His mouth was dry as he panted, taking great, heaving breaths of the stuff. Presumably it got less distasteful over time. Casting around, his gaze landed on the half-finished cup of tea. He drank it without tasting a drop.

The pan in his hand was crusted with the dark red remnants of his mother’s face. Ricky returned to the sink, and began to fill the basin.

~*~

The SUV tilted alarmingly as it hit another pothole. Gwen clutched at the back of the seat in front of her and glared.

“Jesus, Ianto, what happened to the anti-grav suspension?”

“First of all, that was always Tosh’s job,” he replied, wrestling with the steering wheel. “And secondly, the suspension is built for high-speed chases through an asteroid belt, not traffic jams.”

“This estate hasn’t had anyone look twice at it since 1956,” chipped in Jack. “I should know, I was there when it was built.”

“Tough times for the housing market.”

They rolled again as Ianto wrenched the steering, dragging the van around a corner. A motley collection of police cars, ambulances, and forensics vans filled the cul-de-sac; curious neighbours peered from every window, straining at the police tape for a closer look. Gwen caught Andy’s eye, waving in sarcastic welcome.

“Looks like this is the place, then,” said Owen, a little redundantly, glaring between Gwen and Andy.

“Go team go.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, and Ianto smirked.

“I’ll find us parking. Meet you inside.”

Gwen was already out, the others not far behind as they grabbed their various bags and briefcases. She made straight for Andy, who rolled his eyes as he waved the team through the police tape. Several passers-by muttered their annoyance.

“So what’s happened here, then? The call just said it was a weird one.”

“Good morning to you, Gwen. I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

Gwen couldn’t help but smile a little at Andy’s characteristic grumpiness.

“I’m sorry, Andy. It’s been a slow few weeks. Just looking for something exciting, you know?”

“I will never understand you people.” Andy gestured for the team to follow, leading the way through the gathered officers and up a plain but impeccably kept garden path. “A slow few weeks should be a blessing. Hang out in the doughnut shops, take long lunch breaks. Maybe a parking ticket to break the monotony. Last time I had a slow week I watched all of MasterChef, cooking along with it.” He shot Gwen a look. “You should come round some time. I make a wonderful duck a l’orange.”

“I’d be delighted,” said Jack with his best grin. “But work first, then dinner.”

The look on Andy’s face was such a mixture of resignation and annoyance that Gwen had to hurry through the door to hide her laughter. As soon as the smell hit her, she wished she hadn’t.

“God, what is that?” groaned Owen. He threw a hand over his nose in a vain attempt to block out the stench.

“That, Owen, is the smell of fresh corpse. Would have thought you’d be used to it by now.”

“I at least use aftershave.”

Jack laughed, seemingly uncaring of their surroundings, while Owen glowered.

“You’re wrong, you know.”

Andy leaned against the door frame, looking at the team with folded arms. They continued unpacking equipment, but Gwen turned to him in confusion.

“About what?”

“Corpse. There isn’t one.”

That, at last, got the team’s attention. Tosh’s hands paused at her laptop’s keys, and Owen dropped his duffel bag with a thump. Jack turned slowly to face Andy, who was now looking exceptionally smug.

“Oh, sorry, did team Torchwood not spot the distinct absence of a body?”

“Didn’t you take it out into the forensics tents?”

“Ha! No. That lot are right arsey about the whole thing, to be honest. Accusing us of wasting their time.”

“If there’s no body, why can I smell that delightful cocktail of vomit, blood, urine, and faeces?”

“Cocktail you order often, is it?” muttered Owen. Jack barely spared him a glance, still focused as he was on Andy.

“More often than I’d like. Where’s the body?”

Andy shrugged with a rustling of standard-issue jacket.

“Not a Scooby. There’s no drag marks, and nobody saw anybody leaving.”

“What, in a street this nosy?”

Gwen almost laughed in incredulity at the thought of the neighbours, those same neighbours staring like their life depended on it at the unmoving police cars, having missed someone dragging away a body. Jack sighed and clapped his hands together.

“Well, our day just got a little more interesting. Tosh, Owen, take as many scans as you can without the body here. Gwen, you and I are going to have a look around. See if there’s anything unusual.” He held up a hand to stop Andy protesting. “I know there will be police reports, and we would be very grateful for a copy, but there are some things it’s best to see with your own eyes as well.”

“Thank you,” Gwen muttered to Andy, following Jack as he pushed his way out of the kitchen. He watched them go with a shake of his head.

“Is he always like that?” he asked. Tosh nodded.

“Worse,” said Owen.

*

The house was much as Gwen had expected, an impression which seemed to be reinforced by every subsequent room they entered. Owned by a single woman in her fifties, maybe sixties. One son, early twenties, who had moved out but recently returned – the house didn’t quite look accustomed to having two inhabitants again. An Xbox and one controller lay in a heap of wires next to a selection of zombie-murdering fighting games, which in turn sat by a five-season boxset of Midsomer Murders. Call Gwen presumptuous, but she was fairly certain those belonged to two different people.

The living room held no surprises, nor did the dining room, but in the hallway between the two Gwen spotted something interesting.

“Jack?” she called. No answer came. He was off up the stairs, investigating the bedrooms. Her shout did summon Andy, though, who poked his head through from the kitchen.

“What’s up?”

“There was a cat here.”

She pointed to the floor. One corner was dotted with bloodied paw prints, tracing a meandering line from the kitchen through to the dining room window. As if on cue, Gwen felt a breeze ruffle her hair.

“Ah, yep. Must have got out the window, I’m afraid. It wasn’t here when we got here.” Andy sighed. “Poor bugger. Probably been hit by a car or something by now.”

“Oh, I don’t know. They’ve got nine lives.”

“I know the feeling.”

Jack’s voice came from halfway up the stairs. Gwen turned to see him waving a battered leather-bound notebook.

“Found this upstairs, in the son’s room.”

“What is it?”

“Here.”

The notebook sailed in a graceful arc, which Gwen completely fumbled the catch on. It fell open in her hands to a page so thick with ink it was almost entirely black. She flicked through a couple more pages of much the same until she found something a little more legible. Drawings, runes and symbols Gwen didn’t recognise, mixed with the kind of mathematics she recognised but could never hope to understand.

Andy peered over her shoulder.

“His bedroom was full of this stuff,” Jack said. “In notebooks, whiteboards, even the walls.”

“We saw this,” Andy nodded, his breath coming uncomfortably close to Gwen’s ear. “So what, he’s a maths geek into black metal?”

“Or black magic.”

Andy started to laugh, but it faded fast at the look on Jack’s face.

“Christ, you’re actually serious. Bloody Torchwood, don’t know why I bother.”

“We’re taking this with us,” Jack told him. “I’ve taken photographs of all the stuff on the walls for Tosh to look at. It certainly looks more her area than mine.”

He jumped the last couple of steps and put a hand on Gwen’s shoulder, leading the way into the kitchen where Owen and Tosh had been working.

“Anything interesting?”

“There’s some residual energy around,” said Tosh, words half-muffled by the laptop screen in front of her. “Rift activity, I think – but there’s something else. It’s not something I recognise, but I can check back at the Hub.”

“Check these, too,” said Jack, and nodded for Gwen to pass Tosh the notebook. She did so, and watched as Tosh’s eyes grew wide.

“Oh, wow.”

“I know. Owen, anything?”

Owen looked up for the first time, brow furrowed.

“Yeah, actually. These readings don’t make sense. I’ve taken blood samples to test at the Hub just in case it’s this equipment gone wrong, but – is there a medicine cabinet upstairs?”

“In the bathroom, I think. Why?”

“Just a hunch.”

Owen made for the door. Jack watched him leave, curiosity written clear across his face.

“First door on the right!” he called. “Alright. Looks like anything more we’ll need to do back at the Hub. Andy, could you send us your files?”

“Yes, alright.”

“Thank you.”

Jack smiled and clapped Andy on the shoulder, who did not seem too happy about it.

“The rest of you, pack up. I’ll meet you outside.”

Gwen shrugged, mouthed an apology to Andy, and followed Jack outside. The air was cool and she breathed deep, letting it clear away the smell of empty house and vanished corpse. The SUV was nowhere to be seen.

“Must’ve parked it round the corner. He can’t have gone far.”

Jack offered Gwen his arm, which she took with a smile.

“Lead on.”

As the two approached the end of the road, Ianto came into view. His normally impeccable hair seemed ruffled, and his tie was askew. There was something cradled in his arms which Gwen couldn’t make out.

“Ianto?”

Concern laced Jack’s voice, and he picked up his pace. Gwen had to half jog to keep up.

“Shh, sir. It’s alright, I’m fine.”

“What is it?”

“Just found it. Blood on its paws, thought it might be important – it really doesn’t seem to like me though.”

Ianto jerked his head back as a small paw worked its way free and swiped at Ianto’s face.

Owen and Tosh jogged up behind them, Owen shoving a hand into his pocket. 

“What the fuck is that?”

Ianto wore an expression of dawning horror as he realised Jack was grinning.

“It might be a clue.”

“Sir, please.”

“It was evidence,” agreed Gwen. “Present at the crime scene. Could even be a witness.”

“No way. Sir, I can’t.”

Jack laughed, clearly delighted.

“I think you’ll find you can. Tosh, Gwen, Owen, get in, I’ll drive.”

“I thought Ianto was driving today?” said Tosh. Owen was looking between them with a smirk.

“He’s got his hands full.”

Abject misery settled on Ianto’s face as he realised there was no getting out of this. Jack opened the door for him, acting the gentleman; an effect which was only slightly spoilt by the shit-eating grin splitting his face.

“Come on, Ianto. Don’t drop the kitten.”

“With respect, sir, I really hate you sometimes.”

Jack laughed as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

“I don’t doubt it.”


	2. Chapter 2

Equipment hummed and whirred, a surprisingly soothing background to Gwen’s work given that it could blow up half of Cardiff if it hummed too loudly. The boards she had propped up in front of her were beginning to take shape at last.

Andy had sent over the files, plus a sticky note with his number on it, as if Gwen had forgotten. She gave it to Jack just to make him laugh. Now Jack was studying the rest of the papers too, arms folded across his chest as he leaned back in her chair.

“So, all pretty standard stuff,” he said. “Mrs Delaney, first name Susan, fifty-seven. Lived at that address for the past thirty-five years. No convictions or complaints of note, except the time she called the police because she thought the plumber was trying to rob her?”

“Yep. Turned out he was just Indian.”

Jack grimaced, but there was laughter in it.

“Alright, so we’ll call her…”

“Old-fashioned?” offered Gwen, half-looking over her shoulder to see his response. 

“Please. My coat is old-fashioned. That’s just racist.”

She laughed as she pinned up a copy of the relevant police report.

“I forgot you weren’t much one for euphemisms.”

“I only like the fun ones.”

Jack waggled his eyebrows in a way which left neither Gwen nor anybody else in his vicinity in any doubt what, exactly, he might mean by ‘fun’. She tossed the empty file at him, hitting him in the chest.

“Bloody incorrigible, you are.”

“Oh, you can corrige me any day you like.”

Jack rose from his seat and turned his back before Gwen could throw anything else. She bit her lip and began adding photographs of the strange writing they’d found to the otherhalf of the board.

“Richard Arthur Delaney, twenty-six,” she said to the room in general. “He of the mysterious symbols, the stuff Tosh is working on. General consensus seems to be that he offed his mum and not the other way round. No sign of him either, no more than the corpse. Did well in uni – says here he did his honours in organic chemistry and then a masters course focusing on pharmaceuticals.” She paused, then, thinking back over what she had said. “Pharmaceuticals. Owen, didn’t you say something about a medicine cabinet?”

There was the sound of something metallic clattering to the floor as Owen looked up, clearly so intent in his focus he had forgotten his surroundings. Every inch of his desk was filled with chemical equipment, notes and flasks and tongs and a strangely pervasive scent of oranges.

“I did, yeah. If you give me just – shit!”

The conical flask in his hand was bubbling over. The orange scent turned sickly and rotten, and grew so strong that it made Gwen gag.

“Christ, Owen, what – get it out!”

“On it.”

Watching Owen run while trying desperately to contain the overflowing rancid chemicals would have been hilarious, had the smell been any less unbearable. He disappeared into the autopsy room for a few minutes, and returned looking somehow even more grey in the face than he usually did. In response to the triad of withering glares, he had only a sheepish smile.

“Well, I can confirm that I definitely don’t know what it is. This stuff responds wrong to every test I’ve thrown at it. Chemical structure is like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

“So it’s alien?”

Owen nodded.

“Alien as they come. And it was sitting in the Delaneys’ bathroom cupboard.”

“These calculations must be linked to it somehow,” said Tosh. Intrigued, Gwen moved across towards her desk and peered over her shoulder at the incomprehensible stream of numbers flying across the screen.

“Any idea what they do yet?”

“Sort of. This part, here – this looks like my rift predictor. These numbers keep recurring, like it’s a control of some kind. Best guess so far is that someone is trying to predict spikes in rift energy so they can harness it.”

“So that’s the numbers, what about this lot?”

“That’s what we need to find out next.”

Gwen yawned, leaning a little into Tosh’s shoulder.

“Right. Coffee, then.”

“Me too, please,” said Tosh, pushing Gwen’s head away with a smile. 

“Please, not Gwen, her coffee’s terrible – no offence, of course.”

“None taken, Owen, so long as that’s you volunteering to do it instead.”

He returned to his desk, shrugging out of his stained lab coat.

“Nonsense. Where’s tea boy? Got him for a reason, don’t we?”

“The reason is to remind you that you can’t drink coffee any more,” said Jack. Gwen looked around.

“He’s got a point, though. Where is Ianto?”

“Cat-sitting.” 

Gwen grinned, thinking about the look on Ianto’s face when Jack had sent him out to the pet shop to buy some supplies. Last she’d seen the kitten it had been mewling plaintively in one of the weevil cells.

“Is it at least out the cold?”

“They’re both in my office.”

Gwen listened for a moment and could just about make out muffled cursing. Something toppled. She hoped it wasn’t Ianto.

“Right. I’ll leave his coffee outside the door.”

*

The coffee really didn’t help as much as Gwen had hoped. Eventually Ianto had emerged from his kitten-based purgatory, and that had admittedly ensured the coffee had helped a little more. He looked a little shell-shocked. Jack had kissed his cheek, which had helped take the edge off of his glare, but he still wasn’t in the best of moods. The clock was ticking slowly further from midnight.

“Okay, so that one – no, the top right – seems to be some kind of healing rune. The one beside it looks like a variant on the same design, and below it… I know I’ve seen that design before.”

“Health,” chipped in Ianto. “It means ‘good health’.”

“Slàinte,” said Jack. “And that’s ‘life’ below it, Gwen.”

“Iechyd da,” retorted Gwen. “And life, okay. So, what, it’s all to do with health?”

“Health, life, healing. Pretty clear theme, at least,” Ianto said. He was standing a good three feet from Jack, who lounged in the office chair by Gwen’s desk, but she didn’t miss the way his eyes kept straying back to their boss.

Jack slammed his book shut. It was a heavy thing, thick with dust, dug out from the archives by Ianto who had seemed delighted to be given any task other than dealing with the cat. The cat which had been immediately requisitioned by Owen. ‘Just a few blood tests,’ he’d said, ‘in case the cat isn’t human,’ and hadn’t been happy at all when Ianto had pointed out that of course it isn’t human, Owen, it’s a bloody cat. He seemed happier now the definitively non-human but extremely terrestrial kitten was curled up in his lap.

“Explains the medicine, then. He must be trying to cure something.”

“Alright, so what is it?”

Owen shrugged.

“Don’t ask me,” he said. “Blood tests were entirely normal except for this alien shit running through it.”

“I vote we give up on the symbols for now,” said Jack. “The number of variant designs across different cultures… maybe Andy was right. The kid just happens to be into his neo-pagan aesthetics more than his research.”

“So what do we do?”

Jack swung his feet up onto the desk, tapping the tip of a biro against his chin. As soon as he had settled into position, Gwen swatted his feet away. He pouted but sat properly in the chair, and leant forward instead.

“He’s pulling these symbols from all over, but that maths is specific. High level, too – he’s spent time and expertise on that.”

“I thought he was a chemist, not a mathematician,” said Owen. “No offense, Tosh, but I doubt you could put together pills like his.”

“And you don’t have a clue about how the rift works,” she retorted with a smile. Owen chuckled.

“Exactly. Equivalent exchange.”

“So we need to figure out where he got these figures from. Dig through his internet history, library books, personal files – everything we can get hold of. Working from here, we should be able to figure out what he’s up to.”

Despite being hidden by her screen, Gwen could perfectly picture Tosh brightening at the suggestion.

“Excellent, okay. Computer time it is. Ianto, be a dear?”

Gwen smiled and held up her cup. He sighed, a sound which turned noticeably fonder when Jack slung his arm round Ianto’s shoulders. Took the cup, though, without any question.

“He always is.”

“Of course, sir.”

*

Gwen woke with a start. Being almost thrown from your seat will do that to you. She didn’t even remember falling asleep, but judging by the way her face fitted the creases in Tosh’s shirt it must have been a while. Tosh grabbed at her arm to steady her.

“Sorry, Gwen! I didn’t think – but look!”

“It’s alright, I’m sorry I dozed off.”

“And snored.”

Gwen turned sharply.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Tosh. What’s this you’ve found?”

“I got into Ricky’s laptop.”

Now Gwen understood why Tosh had reacted with such excitement. Ricky Delaney’s files had been astonishingly difficult to get into, given he was – to all appearances – a perfectly average twenty-something.

“Found anything interesting?”

“Get the others.”

Tosh seemed as though she’d barely heard Gwen’s question. Her eyes were wide, and her words sounded as though they had come from far away. Any remaining tiredness left Gwen’s veins in an instant. 

“I’ll take it that’s a yes,” she said. “Jack! Owen! Get in here!”

Jack came thundering through from his office. The door slammed shut behind him with the force of someone hiding behind it. Owen joined them a few moments later, blinking exhaustion from his eyes.

“What is it?”

“So the mother was normal as anything, but I finally found what Ricky was hiding. He’s been talking online about all sorts of things – revenge against those who have done him wrong, how the world will someday be forced to recognise his genius.”

“Sounds like a nutter.”

Already Gwen was dreading this case. The more someone bragged about stuff like this, the more erratic they seemed to get when someone eventually caught up with them.

“There’s more.” Tosh pointed at the screen, and the team leaned in as one to get a closer look. “He’s been entering in competitions, solving almost impossible equations for fun. Jack, this guy’s a genius.”

“A genius with an underground bunker practically in his back yard.”

Jack leant forward and tapped a corner of the screen, which Tosh obligingly enlarged. Blueprints expanded to fill almost the whole monitor, revolving slowly. An underground shelter ran beneath the housing estate. Owen whistled softly.

“And nobody knew it was there?”

Jack shook his head.

“That’s why the roads are so worn down. The government must have put a restriction on digging here.”

“But Ricky found it.”

“It seems so.” Jack turned towards his office, but Ianto had already appeared, Jack’s coat over his arm. Jack grinned.

“Always know what I need, don’t you, Ianto?”

“I try, sir.”

“Oh, god, get a room,” groaned Owen. “Let’s go. I’d rather be in some fucked up zombie bunker with Ricky the nutjob than watch these two making googly eyes all night.”

“Way ahead of you,” replied Tosh, tossing equipment into her bag. Gwen shook her head.

“Come on then, keep up.”

The bulkhead door ground open, and Gwen ducked through. The bay at night was all but deserted; their SUV just a squat, black shape against a different shade of darkness. With the click of a button, it unlocked, and Owen and Tosh jogged over.

“Are they not finished?” Gwen asked. Owen just rolled his eyes.

“Told them they had ten seconds.”

“And?”

“Ianto pulled out his stopwatch.”

Gwen laughed, the sound surprisingly loud against the silence.

“God, I hope that isn’t a euphemism too.”


	3. Chapter 3

At least this time Gwen was prepared for the awkward tilting and clattering of the SUV. They actually made it to the speed limit as they made their way round the estate, bouncing smoothly across the speed bumps and potholes.

“Anti-grav steering,” muttered a slightly dishevelled Ianto with a fair hint of pride.

“Alright, we need to be quick about this before the curtain-twitchers get too involved for their own good.” Jack hopped out of the door and looked around. The ambulances and police cars had long since left, but the cordon remained. One end of the police tape flapped uselessly in the wind. “Gwen, with me. We’ll go ahead and make sure the house is clear. The rest of you, follow on my signal.”

“Got it. Pass us that torch, will you, Tosh?”

The heavy torch in Gwen’s hand was almost more reassuring than the gun at her hip. Alright, so as far as weapons go, a decent handgun would do more damage than most of the other stuff she carried; but you couldn’t see in the dark with one, and it certainly didn’t have quite such a satisfying impact when you smacked it against your opponent’s skull.

She wondered when that sort of thinking became quite so normal, then shrugged away the thought. Probably round about the time weevil attacks became more a nuisance than anything else.

The sound of booted feet against the pavement echoed in the empty streets of the estate, down the wind-tunnel of buildings either side. Gwen lifted the police tape and ducked underneath in an easy, practiced motion.

Without any question, she and Jack took up their positions; backs to the wall, one either side of the door. Gwen held the torch. Jack brought up his gun.

“On three,” he mouthed. “One, two-“

And they were in. Nothing looked to have been disturbed, as far as they could tell. No evidence of food being eaten, no sounds of a television playing, no snoring from the bedrooms.

“I’ll take upstairs,” muttered Jack, and Gwen gave a tight nod. Clearly training for god knows how many missions had more than paid off; Jack was all noise and swagger, sure, but he moved up the stairs like a ghost.

A cursory check revealed there was definitely nothing of note in the lower floor. Certainly not a potential murderer, at least, and they were still decidedly short of a corpse. Gwen motioned to the front door, beckoning the others in. Jack joined them in the kitchen a moment later, re-holstering his pistol.

“All clear.”

“In the house, you mean.” Owen folded his arms, looked up at Jack. “We still haven’t figured out this bunker malarkey.”

“I’m on it,” replied Tosh. Jack gave Owen a loaded nod.

“See? She’s on it.”

“Alright, alright.”

Tosh tapped in annoyance at the device in her hand a few times. It didn’t seem to be particularly responsive, but after a moment Tosh beamed as the thing began to beep. A small LED blinked in time with the sound.

“Sorry. Local WiFi is a bit unreliable.”

“A whole universe of technology, and we’re relying on dodgy WiFi?” said Gwen, failing entirely to keep the incredulity from her voice. Tosh ignored her.

“If I cross-reference the readings I’m getting here with the blueprints we found on Ricky’s laptop… it looks like there should be an access hatch somewhere in the garden. Or, you know, under it.”

Ianto moved slightly from his position by the window, drawing back the curtain and peering out into the garden.

“How about a shed?”

He turned back with a small smile.

“If I was going to hide something like that, I’d want it to be something I can lock.”

“Lock, yeah.” Owen pulled a set of wire cutters from his bag and held them up. They glinted in the filtered moonlight. “That’ll make this the key.”

“Alright then, team,” said Jack, motioning towards the back door. “Guess we’re going underground.”

The garden soil squelched unpleasantly beneath Gwen’s boots. It had rained the previous day, and the clear night was far from warm enough to make it dry any faster. The team moved as one silent group towards the shed, taking up their earlier positions once more. Gwen found herself grateful Owen didn’t need to breathe, as she held her own breath in apprehension. Bolt cutters slipped through the chain with a whisper.

On three, then, and Gwen took one final breath in that moment between countdown and chaos. Then they plunged forward, as one, into the shed.

It was immediately obvious that this place, whatever it was, was no shed. There were a couple of spades and torches strung from the rough wooden walls, yes, but the vast majority of the place was taken up by a large metal hatch. Gwen hauled it away and gestured for the team to go down. As soon as Ianto’s jacket flashed past her, Gwen followed.

The access tunnel was cramped and smelt rotten, the clinging, sour tang of old milk and forgotten food. Gwen was surprised, though relieved, to find that the afternoon’s rain didn’t seem to have made it into the underground tunnels; in fact, apart from the smell, the bunker seemed surprisingly well-kept.

Of course, it had to be then that she heard the screams.

Gwen’s head whipped round, and from the looks on the team’s faces she wasn’t the only one to have heard it.

“Jack, was that-“ began Owen, then stopped abruptly when the sound came again. The scream was low and desperate. There was a rattle in the screamer’s voice that Gwen was only too familiar with, and it didn’t fill her with hope for the state she knew they were going to find them in.

“Sounds like it.”

Jack kept his tone cavalier, but Gwen didn’t miss the way his knuckles whitened as he gripped his pistol tight. He led the way down what was, as far as Gwen could tell, the main access corridor, which eventually widened into a larger room. The walls were covered in the same healing symbols and equations Jack had found in Ricky’s notebook, repeated a dozen or more times over.

“We’re under the street now,” muttered Tosh, checking the readout before her. “The SUV is practically on top of us.”

The room seemed empty, though showed disquieting signs of recent activity. Ianto flinched noticeably at the sound of a crisp packet crumpling beneath his foot. The silence in the bunker became instantly deliberate.

“Oh god, is someone there?”

Gwen froze, reaching to the gun at her hip. The voice echoed around them, coming from everywhere at once. It was followed by a soft, rattling breath.

“Please, you have to help me.”

At Jack’s signal, Gwen and Owen moved further ahead, flanking the doorway which was beginning to come into view across the room. It was ajar. Dark liquid pooled on the floor inside.

“Who’s there?”

The voice was urgent now. Ripples moved across the pool. Something, someone, whatever was inside that room was moving.

“Ricky? Oh god, mate, you have to help me – I’m sorry!”

More scrabbling.

“I’m sorry! Please don’t hurt me! I swear, Rick, I won’t tell a soul. Just get me out of here. My mam doesn’t know where I’ve gone. It’s her birthday, for god’s sake.”

Jack nodded. Gwen and Owen nodded their confirmation.

“Hands up, Torchwood!” 

The door swung open with a grating screech, and the three with hands too full to cover their ears leapt forward. A quick sweep of the room revealed nothing of significant threat, or even significant importance – it was a square room, maybe six feet to a side, with a drain in the centre of the floor and a cot along one wall. The puddle on the floor was dripping slowly through the grate. In one corner of the room, cowering and crying away from the torchlight, was the figure of a man.

“You look like hell,” said Owen, lowering his gun a little.

The man shifted and looked up, and Gwen mentally recalibrated her original assessment. He was barely more than a boy – about twenty, by the looks of him, and so pale and drawn he looked somehow both younger and as if he’d aged thirty years at once. He really did look like hell. His eyes widened as he looked over them.

“Please, get me out of here,” he pleaded. “Before Ricky gets back.”

“Who are you?” Jack demanded. “How did you get here?”

“Look, I’ll go with you.” The boy held out his trembling hands. “Cuff me, arrest me, whoever you are – just, please. I’ll die in here. Either he’ll leave me here, or he’ll come back.”

His voice broke, and the boy started to sob. At last, Jack lowered his gun, slipping it back into its holster.

“Alright. Cuff him, Owen.”

Owen grimaced at the thought of stepping in the pool, but snapped the cuffs around the boy’s wrists and hauled him upright. His feet gave out as soon as he tried to put any weight on them.

“Woah, there,” said Owen, grabbing him again. “You’re already going to ruin my car. Don’t make it worse.”

“My car,” muttered Ianto. Owen glared at him.

“What’s your name, kid?”

The boy looked at Jack, pain and fear written clear across his face.

“Billy,” he said. “William Graham. I live in town.”

“Alright, Billy Graham,” said Jack, holding the door aside for Owen and Billy to pass. “We came to see you in your underground bunker. Time for you to return the favour.”


End file.
